


Cockroach Vignette #5: Oh Death

by BigSciencyBrain



Series: Refuge [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Filling in some gaps, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 02:56:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigSciencyBrain/pseuds/BigSciencyBrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fate is a cruel mistress, but Loki knows an opportunity when he sees one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cockroach Vignette #5: Oh Death

Loki opened his eyes as feeling came roaring back and his senses exploded. Raw, searing pain ripped down his throat and through his chest. He gritted his teeth, arching his back as he felt his skin knitting together. The healing wounds ached as much as the spear that had made them. When the pain subsided enough for him to breathe, he blinked his surroundings into focus.

Svartalfheim. The dark world.

Thor had left him.

Of course he’d left, Loki thought as he rolled to his side. What reason would Thor have to carry a corpse with him? Their desperate gamble to destroy the Aether had only confirmed Loki’s suspicion that it could not be destroyed at all. With the fate of the Nine Realms, and the universe itself now at stake, Thor would have gotten Jane to safety and pursued Malekith before he would have spared a thought for what happened to Loki’s body.

He managed a grim laugh, accepting that he was alive as one more vicious joke played on him by Fate. Frost Giants, apparently, were far more difficult to kill than he’d been told.

Pushing up onto his hands and knees - the ache in his chest was still agonizing – Loki knew he would’ve done the same if it had been Thor lying in the black dirt and Steve needing his help. The thought made him smile, though it was more of a grimace; Steve would’ve insisted that he didn’t need protection.

Steve. 

Loki struggled to stand but his legs refused to hold his weight. If Midgard was in danger, so was Steve. 

It felt like endless minutes, maybe hours, before he had strength enough to stand; even longer before he felt his magic begin to return. There was no sign of Thor so he must’ve found a way to escape the desolation of Svartalfheim, whether it was Asgard’s intervention or Thor’s inborn luck didn’t matter. Loki could only wait and see if his brother was victorious against Malekith and the dark power of the Aether.

He’d been willing. He had sacrificed everything. For what?

When he could move, he stumbled – clawed – his way toward an outcropping of rock that looked to be the opening of a cave. He needed protection from the elements until his strength was fully replenished. The howling of the wind retreated when he dragged himself into the relative safety of the cave.

There were strange objects littering the ground. He recognized them as pieces of Midgard strewn over the black rock. This was a place where the worlds were blurring together.

The temptation to return to Midgard twisted his stomach, but the dark elves were not the only threat. He had to trust that Thor was adequately motivated to save Midgard and that he would succeed. If he failed, the Nine Realms would not be served by Loki following after Thor. He avoided the obvious boundaries of convergence, stumbling further into the darkness. The path he found had been hewn by hands rather than nature and that meant there was intent behind their existence. These were ancient paths, perhaps older than Odin himself.

He found the place where Bor had sought – and failed – to entomb the Aether forever. He’d come to this place of darkness and silence; this place of death. He sat, leaning against the Aether’s tower, staring out into the vastness of the cavern around him, until the pain in his chest finally faded. Death would not have him, not yet. He would not allow it.

He still had something to live for.

_I love you, Loki. No matter what happens. Never forget that I love you._

_I won’t. I haven’t._

He had to return to Asgard. He had to finish what he'd begun. It felt a lifetime had passed since he'd fallen from the Bifrost and made his bargain with Thanos.

He’d expected Thanos to come for Asgard as soon as he, and the Tesseract, had returned, but there had been no sign of the Chitauri. Perhaps the blow to their forces had been far greater than Loki had realized. Either that or his deception hadn’t been complete and Thanos no longer believed him to be an ally.

All his words to Thor about how brief mortal lives were, all his taunting; he could feel the time in Steve’s life slipping away with each moment. How much more would he miss in defense of an Asgard that despised him?

The far off sound of the wind rushing past the opening in the rocks above lulled him into a fitful sleep. He dreamed of Midgard and the little motel in San Francisco. In his dreams, he could hear Steve’s laughter, see the light in his eyes, and picture the way the skin around his eyes wrinkled when he smiled perfectly. As he drifted in and out of consciousness, he wished he had the energy to conjure at least the illusion of Steve. The ache in his chest to hear Steve’s voice again was no less painful than a spear.

Slowly, he became aware that the howl of the wind had ceased.

When he could stand without shaking, he made his way back along the path he’d come. He found other places where the boundaries between worlds were thin. Fate had given him an opportunity. If he was believed dead, he could make preparations without being locked away in a jail cell; perhaps he could even divert Thanos from Asgard completely. 

The storm had abated when he reached the mouth of the cavern. He left it behind and began the journey across the wide valley where Malekith had landed. He had to circle the bluff he’d thrown Thor from, finding a less direct way to reach the top. There, in the shadow of a mountain, was the craft they’d taken from Asgard. He smiled as he reached for his magic; it took most of the energy he had regained by resting, but it would be enough. He disappeared in a shimmer, now wearing the face of the guard who had told him of Frigga’s death.

Had he known the guard’s name? Brandr, he thought. Perhaps that had been it.

Of course, once he returned to Asgard, he would need to assume another form. A form far more useful to his purposes.


End file.
